


Your Hand in Mine

by BoomXhakalaka



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8163526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoomXhakalaka/pseuds/BoomXhakalaka
Summary: Five times Olivier reached for Granit’s hand and one time Granit reached for Olivier's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I actually support another EPL team, but this picture literally ruined my fucking life: https://65.media.tumblr.com/adbc2682dcbe31b0aa5a3b5f61e2b188/tumblr_od8lkldweF1rgbsvxo1_500.jpg
> 
> Or: When you write the pairing you wanted to read because no one seems to have done it yet and you have two essays and two exams to avoid working on/studying for.

**eins**  •  **një** • **un**  • **one**

Olivier Giroud was the first Arsenal player Granit met after signing for the club. Switzerland played France at Euro 2016 and at the conclusion of the match when both teams were shaking hands on the pitch, Granit looked for Olivier. He thought it would be nice to make a point of introducing himself to his future teammate and shake his hand. He doesn't need to introduce himself though, as Olivier clearly recognises him. He gives Granit a warm smile and goes straight in for a hug rather than a handshake.

(They played each other in 2014 in Brazil, but Granit actually doesn't remember Olivier from that match).

So Granit's first impression of Olivier Giroud is that he is even better looking in person. He'd looked up videos of his future team after the deal went though and pictures and videos definitely did not do the Frenchman any kind of justice. 

Granit's second impression of Olivier Giroud is that the man gives really good hugs. He doesn't remember anything Olivier says to him, but he does remember how _warm_ he was and how he gave him a real proper hug, not some awkward brief touch. 

When they pull apart from each other, Olivier runs his hand down Granit's arm, taking his hand and squeezing it in place of a handshake, holding onto it for a second or two longer than than what would be considered normal. 

It should have been a little weird and awkward, except it wasn't at all. 

 

 **zwei**  •  **dy** • **deux**  •  **two**

During one of his first training sessions with Arsenal following the pre-season tours abroad, Granit was sitting on the grass at the edge of the training field, having just finished lacing up his boots ready for training. 

'Here'. 

He looks up to see Oliver Giroud standing in front of him, a hand extended to help Granit to his feet.

As much as he enjoyed playing in Mönchengladbach and was genuinely honoured to have been made captain, moving to Arsenal had been his dream for over a year. But that didn't mean that Granit wasn't somewhat nervous about coming to London, even if he'd have never admitted that to a soul, except maybe Taulant. He'd needn't have been nervous though, everyone had been so nice and welcoming to him. It had been especially easy to befriend Mesut and Shkodran in particular. It made sense. They were all around the same age, from similar backgrounds in life and there was no language barrier between them. 

But it was Olivier who had truly gone out of his way to be welcoming and friendly to Granit. As corny as it sounded, it was Olivier's friendship that meant the most to Granit. He could have easily stuck to his French speaking friends and those he'd been comfortable with for years, but he had made a real effort to get to know Granit and was happy to deal with English to talk with him, even though he still had the heavy french accent that made him a little difficult to understand at times. 

Granit could easily have gotten himself up from the grass, but he takes Olivier's hand gratefully and lets his friend help him to his feet. 

 

 **drei**  •  **tre** •  **trois**  •  **three**

It is one of those days where there is something strange in the water and everyone at training is messing around a little bit too much. Arsene's demeanour resembles a strange combination of a parent at the end of his rope with his poorly behaved children who are embarrassing him on a long haul flight, and a mafia boss annoyed the guys he sent to kill his enemy got soft and let the guy go. 

Mesut and Shkodran had been calling Granit ' _Prinzessin_ ' all afternoon and it didn't take a fluent German speaker or linguistics expert to work out what they were saying. 

As the team is finishing off for the afternoon and heading back to the locker room to shower and head home, Olivier jogs over to Granit and dramatically grab's the younger man's hand with mock flourish. 

'Oh Prinzessin Granit of Switzerland, my beautiful one, will you run away with me?'

It may have been a question, but Olivier clearly intended it as a statement.

He doesn't wait for Granit's reply, he just drags Granit along with him, hand in hand as they leave the pitch. Not that Granit would have refused anyway. In fact, he laughed out loud because Olivier Giroud is basically the cutest, dumbest and most loveable idiot he's ever met. 

There may be no question, but Granit pretends to think it over before accepting.

'Only if you promise me all the castles and riches in the world'. 

'Anything your heart desires, Prinzessin,' Olivier tells him with mock seriousness, continuing to lead Granit towards the locker room. 

Mesut would later describe it as skipping, although both Granit and Olivier would vehemently deny that they were _skipping_. 

'Have I ever told you my parents are from Kosovo?' (He hadn't, but Olivier knew it from Google). 'So we can rule Kosovo and Albania too when we become King and Queen,' Granit tells Olivier. 

'And I bring France of course. We will take over Europe and rule a continent,' Olivier deadplans.

'Mesut and Shkodran will regret making fun of us when they are living in the Kingdom of Europe that we rule. Maybe we can make them peasants,' Granit muses as they enter the locker room. 

Shkodran takes one look at them standing there hand-in-hand and tells them in German to get a room. Granit rolls his eyes at his friend at the same time he hears Mesut laughing. Olivier and Granit let go of each other's hands to go their own bags. As Granit is changing out of his training shorts, Shkodran asks Granit in German if he needs to borrow his place for some privacy with Olivier. 

Granit throws his blue training vest at Shkodran.

Olivier looks on in confusion, because he can't make out what they are saying this time. German is hard as fuck when it's not as obvious as  _Prinzessin_. 

Granit might have tried to play it off as a joke, but if he was completely honest with himself, getting a room with Olivier wouldn’t exactly be the worst thing in the world.

 

 **vier**  •  **katër** •  **quatre**  •  **four**

Granit, Olivier, Kieran, Per and Rob all have late September birthdays falling within about ten or eleven days of each other. Taulant once informed Granit that the reason so many people have birthdays around that time of year was because they were the result of Christmas and New Year accidents. Taulant is a shithead like that. The team decides to head out to a club one evening for a couple of birthday drinks in honour of them all. 

Granit and Olivier had been flirting with each other for weeks now, ever since the season had started, but it was nothing more than harmless joking.....until that night, when Olivier finally decided to do something about it. 

Olivier sits down next to Granit on one of the couches in the VIP room the team had booked, pressing his body into Granit's side, throwing caution to the wind as he learns in even closer. 

'Do you want to get out of here?' he whispers into Granit's ear.

Olivier's breath is hot on Granit's skin and the feel of his body pressing against his is doing things to Granit.

He can't quite remember how to form English words at that moment, so he just nods. 

The lights are dimmed, making the room rather dark but Olivier gets the message anyway. He stands up and holds his right hand out to Granit with a wink. 

'Let's go'.

Granit shakes his head slightly, because of course the cocky asshole would wink at someone he'd just successfully propositioned. He takes Olivier's outstretched hand, allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and away from the party. 

Olivier doesn't care who sees as he leads Granit out of the club and into a taxi back to the team hotel. 

Neither does Granit. 

 

 **fünf**  •  **pesë** •  **cinq**  •  **five**

The second time Olivier and Granit hooked up was a few days after their combined birthday party when they were out of town for an away game. Granit had left his phone in the bathroom. Granit is the type who can't be without his phone for more than five minute. Olivier is the type who can spend an hour under the hot water of the shower. So Granit decides to duck into the bathroom and grab his phone off the basin. After all, it's not like he was going to see anything he hadn't seen before. 

Olivier notices Granit entering the bathroom wearing just his training shorts and smirks. He had no complaints about Granit's tendency to lounge around shirtless in their hotel room. Olivier opens the door of the shower and taps Granit on his back, right below the inked number on the skin between his shoulder blades.  

Granit turns around and before he can say anything, Olivier grabs his hand and carefully pulls him into the shower with him. 

'You fucker what if my phone was in my pocket? And it's slippery he.....'.

Granit doesn't get to finish his protest because Olivier shuts him up with a kiss. 

'Whatever, I'll buy you a new phone,' Olivier says when he pulls back, his voice definitely more than a little breathless. 

'My phone isn't in my pocket but it could've been and.....,' Granit says before Olivier interrupts him again. 

'Good'. 

And that is the end of that.

Olivier kisses him again, backing Granit up against the wall of the shower, tugging his now soaking wet shorts down around his ankles. Granit kicks them off, and Olivier gives him what Granit is starting to think is his trademark cocky wink, before the Frenchman drops to his knees in front of him. 

After that, Granit quickly lost count of the number of times Olivier reached for his hand to pull him into bed, or the shower or even a random storage room at the training grounds that Olivier swore no one else seemed to know about other than him.

Their frequent hookups always seemed to start the same way.......with Olivier grabbing Granit's hand with a stupid wink. 

But that's all there was to this thing they had between them.

They were friends who happened to hook up and enjoy mind-blowing benefits.

Nothing more.

And that's all Granit was going to let it be. 

**\---**

_**eins**  •  **një** • **un**  • **one**_

It was almost Christmas and this thing between Olivier and Granit had been going on for about ten weeks when Olivier had the worst football game of his entire life.

He missed three sitters, gave away a game deciding penalty from reckless tackle, and then got sent off from a second yellow just two minutes later when he lost his temper and shoved an opposing player for no particular reason other than _fuck everything_. Even Arsene looked like he wanted his head on a platter and it was pretty well known among the squad that the manager had a bit of a soft spot for his fellow Frenchman, at least on a personal level. 

It only takes a brief look at his social media accounts after the game for Granit to see that Olivier is being _crucified_ by both the press and the fans.

It also only takes a brief look at Olivier across the room for Granit to know Olivier has checked at his phone and seen it all as well.

The whole team silently boards the bus to head back to London. Granit puts his carry-on in the overhead bin and takes what has become his usual seat next to Olivier. Olivier somehow manages to look even more miserable than he did an hour ago in the locker room, like someone told him in the interim that he’ll never play another professional game again.

Granit feels a bit like someone stomped on his own heart seeing Olivier looking so miserable. He can’t even imagine how shit his friend is feeling.

Olivier is silently staring out the window, and either doesn't notice or doesn't react when Granit sits down next to him. 

Granit waits a few seconds, and still gets no reaction from his friend. He does't know what to say, but he also knows he can't just do nothing.

Olivier's right hand is resting on his thigh, so Granit reaches for it and clasps it in his own, giving it what Granit hopes is a reassuring squeeze. 

_Because you might have fucked up bad, but I could never hate you or think less of you. It's just a football match. But you're **you**. And you matter more than a score. _

Olivier turns around and while he doesn’t pull his hand away out of Granit's, he looks at him with a confused look on his face.

**_Shit_.**

Granit hadn’t thought about what he was going to say if Olivier questioned it.

He naively didn’t even consider the possibility Olivier might do that, or that he might have made it worse when he was trying to make it better. 

‘I'm sorry.......I just......I want……try make better for you,’ Granit says hesitantly and nervously, all the progress he’d made with his English over the past few months suddenly gone to hell.

‘But if it not helping you or weird I can…..….forget it. Forget I did this. Sorry,’ Granit mutters.

Granit tries to pull his hand away, but Olivier doesn't let him. Instead he tightens his grasp, gripping Granit's hand like it's the only thing stopping him falling off the edge of a five hundred metre cliff. 

‘No, it’s fine. It’s nice. Really. Thank you’. Olivier says so quietly his voice is barely above a whisper and Granit barely hears him. 

He pauses for a moment to take a deep breath before continuing, his voice still quiet, but surprisingly calm for someone who still looked completely emotionally shattered. 

‘I just didn’t think you cared’.

Granit sighs softly and shakes his head, but there’s no frustration or exasperation in the sigh.

It’s just.....well, if someone were to describe it, they’d probably say Granit sounded affectionate, like a long suffering boyfriend when his partner has said something stupid but adorable.

‘Of course I care about you, you fucking idiot’. 

‘Yeah?’ Olivier smiles for the first time since being sent off the pitch. It’s only a small smile, and someone who didn’t know him well might even have missed it, but Granit knew it it was there.

‘Yeah,’ Granit confirms, his voice soft but firm and unwavering.

‘Good,’ Olivier says. ‘Good. I’m really happy about that'. Olivier chews on his lip for a few moments before speaking again. 'I'm so tired, but.....can.....can we....talk about this later?'. 

'Of course,' Granit tells him.

'Thank you'. Olivier turns to look back out the window right as the bus starts and begins to move. He stares quietly at the staring at the lights of the stadium and the Christmas lights of the city as they begin the drive back to London to go home. 

They don’t even make it out of the city and onto the highway before Olivier has fallen asleep. Within a couple of minutes of that, Olivier seems to have decided in his sleep that the best pillow available for his head is Granit's chest. Granit looks down and notices that their clasped hands are still resting on Olivier's thigh.

He's thankful the lights have been dimmed and nearly everyone else would be asleep as well, or at the very least, on their phones and not paying any attention to him or Olivier. 

Granit isn’t at all tired and the way Olivier has adopted his body as a pillow means he can’t reach for his phone without waking Oliver. He really doesn’t want to do that, he’s peaceful and he looks content despite the fact he’s going to wake up to a fucking mess.

Granit would rather go without his messages and music for two hours if it means giving Olivier two hours to escape from the world and all the shit they were saying about him. 

Granit realises he has a huge problem.

He’d sworn to himself it wasn’t going to happen, that they were just friends hooking up in hotel rooms to make away trips more interesting, but he couldn’t really lie to himself anymore about it being just a superficial friends with benefits arrangement anymore.

Because the thing is: Granit would hold Olivier’s stupid hand for the rest of their damn lives if Olivier asked him to.

**Author's Note:**

> The boring stuff:
> 
> Disclaimer 1: I (sadly) do not own Olivier Giroud or Granit Xhaka (although I would very much like to) and I sit on a throne of lies as big as Donald Trump's. Other than being based on an actual picture and 3282 footballers being born in late September, this all is fiction and no harm/slander/etc is intended.
> 
> Disclaimer 2: I'm 99% sure some of the logistics with things like team hotels/when teams take buses home/timelines for matches in relation to the season etc are inaccurate. But since this is fiction, I've hand waved them away to suit my needs because, well I can, that's why.
> 
> Disclaimer 3: Written in about hour or so and un-betaed. All mistakes my own.
> 
> Title is taken from the Explosions in the Sky song that is the theme music for Friday Night Lights, which I highly recommend if you're looking for your next Netflix bingewatch.
> 
> Anyway, if you've gotten this far, I'm flattered & I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
